A Circle of Light

Hanson dedicated his book of poetry to his wife, Pat, with whom he has been married for more than 65 years. Does Love Survive Death? Are We Guided By a Divine Universal Plan? Do you believe that in the soul’s journey after death we will meet again our loving partners who passed before us?Michael Hanson does believe, a stunning admission from a man who once served as a Scotland Yard Detective — a man of facts, logic and reason. Yet, today, Hanson believes himself to have been transformed by the love he has shared with his wife, Pat, for over 65 years in this life — and likely more in the eternal return of souls gone before, who have been sealed together forever.The luminance around their heads has joined,To form a Circle of Light, which enfolds them both.That unseen magnetism which makes poles unlike attract,Has fused them together in an unbreakable whole.In one of his poems, Hanson poignantly imagines how that long relationship with the greatest love of his life might come to an end.Your hand in mine relaxes gently and tells me now,That breath and heart are stilled.Tears fall unashamed as you begin the journey,That we all must take,To find what lies beyond this earthly realm.But he is confident they will meet again.When I go, I will meet others on the other side.But I know you will be there to greet me,And to be my guide.Should I go first, though, remember this,For then I will be there for you,Together, once again as we always were,And will always be again.There is much more in this collection of poetry to enjoy. Hanson writes marvellously of the world of nature, the passing of the years, the sadness of war and the wisdom that comes from both joy and sadness.Beyond his exploration of the afterlife, Hanson’s poetry takes us on a guided tour of life itself, including the four seasons, with all of their recurring moods, as in the poem, “Autumn,” which reflects the melancholy of that season.Days shorten now as dawn’s darkness lingers longer,and days fall faster into dusky night.Chimneys start to wreath the fields with woodsmoke.Doors and windows now are fastened tight.Life, too, also has its seasons and old age must serve as the December of our life, as Hanson reveals in his poem, titled simply, “Age.”Creeping unseen upon all humanity,stealing with the skill of an accomplished thief.To such an implacable Nemesis as age,no magical elixir can ever give relief.Though some will be alert to see its onsetand try to stay the ways it takes effect,eventually all must be the loser.No sympathy to class or gender,no pity, no respect.